


pansies bloomed all night

by writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle (twoandahalfslytherins)



Series: Convenient Group of Femslash Fics [21]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Aaron Burr: Misogynist with a "Heart Of Gold", Ableism, Angelica Schuyler: Threat on the stage- Friend off of it, F/F, Martha Manning: Host, Multiple Sclerosis, Poetry Scene, Sally Burr: Quite Happy how she is Thank You Very Much, Theo: Trying to find her place again, or so he thinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandahalfslytherins/pseuds/writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(title credit goes to the Andrea Gibson poem 'Pansies')</p><p>33 isn't necessarily middle-aged, but most days, for Theodosia it feels like it. </p><p>That is until a chance emails brings her back to her roots and reminds her of the life she left behind.</p><p>To quote Denice Frohman's "First Kiss"- Some things are only felt the second time around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i bet you smell butterfly

_Dear Mrs. Prevost,_

_My name is Martha Manning and I’m a huge fan of your work. I first ran across your poetry in ‘Blackberry’ , and while you don’t have many videos up on youtube- there is the one group piece you did with Ms. Schuyler and I think you have a beautiful voice. Have you thought about recording any of your other work?_

_I work for the Marist bookstore in New York and we do an open mic every other Saturday. We’ve never had a featured poet come in before, but my boss said it’s something that he’s interested in and you were the first person that came to mind._

_Do you have a rate that you could quote us? I’d really love to see you here. We’re a small operation, but I think it’d do some of the young girls a lot of good to see a poet such as yourself._

_If you’re interested we were thinking March 12th, maybe?_

_Thank you for your time,_  
_Martha Manning_

 

It’s been three years since anyone has called her Mrs. Prevost, but Theo can’t blame the girl. Her divorce isn’t exactly a matter of public record. Besides, she hasn’t produced anything new in years. Which is why it’s surprising, and just a little flattering, that she’s been reached out to at all.

Plum nails tap aimlessly on her desk as she rereads the email. Tries to weigh the pros and cons of responding. There are papers that need grading, lesson plans to write. But there’s also the never published chapter book still saved somewhere on her hard drive, the empty house she calls home, the vacancies in her social calendar.

Maybe it’s sad how little she actually has to think it over.

March is only a few weeks away, and if this sounded like a real gig, Theo would look into hotels in the area. A quick google search puts the bookstore over three hours away, and if nothing else, she’ll need a place to spend the night. But hotels are expensive, and even if she takes Martha up on the chance to be paid- it doesn’t sound like it’ll be that much.

So Theo does what any poet in her position would do, taps into her network and hopes someone will throw her a line.

Angelica answers her phone on the second ring. At least a year has passed since they spoke last, but Ang doesn’t miss a beat. Theo allows herself to travel back in time, slides back into the persona she’d had when they were close.

If there’s anyone who can make it as a ‘career poet’, it’s Angelica.

Five years ago they’d been paired together at a workshop and even then, without any performance experience or a credit to her name, Angelica had been impressive. New ideas and full of passion, full of fight- she represented everything Theo had wanted to be.

Still does. Except she’s graduated college, has a resume worth bragging over now. Angelica had been twenty-one when she published her first chapter book, twenty the first time she showed up on Button. At twenty-three she has more than a few titles and credits under her belt. Even works for a nonprofit that does workshops for local high school students.

Ambitious, but sweet, she asks if Theo would be interested in coming down to showcase for one. Theo seizes the opportunity to mention Manning’s proposal. Asks if that’s still Angelica’s neck of the woods.

It is but Angelica apologizes. WOWPS is that weekend, she’ll be in Boston.

Theo bites back the disappointment and lets Angelica tell her about that. About qualifying, about how excited she is. It’s not Theo’s world anymore but she enjoys the moment of inclusion. Is quietly thrilled when Angelica not only goes over the details of her own win but gossips about the competition. A true sign that Ang does not see the past year as distance between them.

After an hour or so, Angelica makes her excuses. There’s the sound of voices in the background and she explains that Peggy’s arrived and they’re going to go over her timing for the upcoming slam. Theo thanks her for taking the time to talk to her and wishes her luck.

Two hours later she receives a text. ‘You don’t know her, but there’s a woman named Sally who lives in the area who said you can crash on her couch for the weekend if you’re still interested.’

The next morning, Theo responds to Martha Manning saying she’d be delighted.

\--

There aren’t many perks to teaching high school, but Theo considers the ease of her morning routine among them. In her younger years, she’d considered herself fashion forward, would spend hours picking out just the right outfit, spent far more than she should have on new clothes.

These days she teaches young women how to dress to impress, but the focus is less on being fashionable and more on being neat. Her students tease her about her almost monochromatic wardrobe, but the benefit of her professional attire all being black, white, and purple is that she never has to worry if things will match. How many times has she intoned that a nice fit is more important than a rainbow? That they’d be better off buying a few staple pieces and visiting a tailor versus shopping the latest trend.

The lack of variety in her wardrobe mocks her as she packs her suitcase. It’s only a weekend trip, but the weather is unreliable so she folds her black skirt and places it next to a pair of slacks. A white button down goes in next, followed by a short sleeve blouse that matches her nails. It takes a moment to dig for a pair of acceptable pajamas, but once she finds them, they join the stack.

Heavy makeup is frowned upon at the school, but Theo keeps the small amount that she does use in her purse for mid-day touch ups. Even though she’d applied it that morning, she double checks that they’re there. Runs a hand over her head before putting everything in her car.

Sally is expecting her by nine and Theo would prefer not to keep the young woman waiting. Not when she’s already doing such a huge favor for her. Sally had insisted that Theo come down Friday after classes rather than spend Saturday morning on the road.

If nothing else, it gives her Saturday morning to run over her set. Practice reading aloud her own work again. Maybe, if Sally is open to it, she can even get someone else’s opinions on what pieces to read.

Living in the city means that on average, she rarely drives for more than an hour. Whenever possible Theo prefers to take the bus, but she doesn’t want to impose and ask someone to pick her up from the station. Instead, she turns on NPR and prepares herself for the almost four-hour trip.

By the time she reaches the apartment complex, her eyes are watering from yawning. Theo double checks the text with the address before grabbing her suitcase and heading toward the main entrance. From there, it’s easy, the second apartment on the right- the woman had even clarified that hers was the one with the yellow door.

Trying to be mindful of the time she knocks. Opens the door when a woman’s voice calls out for her to come in.

It’s a bit strange- but the reason becomes apparent as soon as she steps through the entry way.

The apartment is nice, the door opening up to a living room and kitchen that are bursting with color. Sunflowers on the counter match the curtains, throw pillows, and oddly enough, an empty bird cage that seems to be more for decoration than function. Other than the occasional yellow highlight, most of the room is an inviting cream color. All in all, the scene reads more magazine than any place that Theo’s ever lived.

“Sorry about that, usually I would have gotten up to let you in- but it’s been a rough day,” Sally explains, turning her wheel chair so that it’s angled more toward the door.

Theo opens her mouth and then closes it, unsure if she’s allowed to apologize as well. Hasn’t she given sensitivity lessons before? Informed her girls that it’s not okay to pity the disabled. If Sally is even disabled. For all Theo knows this is less permanent condition and more temporary injury- it’s rude to assume.

It takes her a beat, but she recovers, smiling to steady herself. “It’s perfectly understandable. Thank you so much for letting me stay.”

Sally smooths down her navy skirt before tipping her chin toward the kitchen table. “I didn’t know if you were going to stop on your drive here. So I got Thai? If you’re interested.”

“That sounds wonderful.” And it does, it really does.

Except there aren’t any chairs near the kitchen table. Theo hovers awkwardly for a moment, unsure if she’s allowed to eat in the living room or if she should just stand. Thankfully when Sally turns herself so that she can fix her own plate, she realizes her conundrum. “Oh! There're folding chairs in the pantry.”

“Do you have guests often?” Theo asks as she fetches one, thinking of her own apartment post college. She’d only owned two sets of dishes, never seeing the point in keeping around what she didn’t need. Any surprise guests meant breaking out paper plates.

The shake of her head sends curls bouncing about Sally’s shoulders. “Not much. Aaron comes by once a week to help with groceries and things, but other than that I guess you could call this my own private sanctuary.”

“It’s beautiful. I don’t know that I’ve ever managed to keep a place quite so picturesque.” It’s a compliment, but Theo panics briefly when Sally frowns as she glances about.

“I do my best, but honestly, Aaron’s the credit there.” Sally shrugs dismissively before flashing Theo a reassuring smile. “I haven’t the heart to tell him that my favorite color hasn’t been yellow for years. Though, I do remember fancying it quite a bit when I was thirteen. I played soccer in high school and our uniforms were a lovely shade of it.”

“You two have known each other that long?” Theo’s never been good at guessing ages, but if she had to make a bet, she’d put her money on the woman being in her mid-twenties. More Angelica’s age than her own.

Why that thought strikes her, Theo isn’t sure.

This time, Sally laughs, a delicate sound. “All his life. He’s my younger brother. Considering you know Angelica, I’m surprised you two haven’t met. They compete together often enough.”

“I’m horrible with names.” It’s a safer comment than mentioning that she and Angelica haven’t been that close recently. Especially if Sally is doing this as a favor for Ang instead of an interest in helping the poetry community at large.

It’s also a true statement, because as soon as Sally starts describing Aaron- a distinct image paints itself in her mind. They’ve never met in person, but he was on the scene around the same time that Theo left. Angelica had complained about him flirting with the judges at CUPSI and he’d almost walked away with an imprint of Ang’s hand when he tried to do the same with her.

Theo wonders how their relationship has evolved from there, especially if she’s close with the man’s beloved sister. Makes a mental note to text Ang in the morning, but for now, she’s tired and ready to call it a night.

After they finish up their late dinner, Theo collects the dishes and rinses them off in the sink. Sally directs her to the linen closet and Theo gratefully pulls down a comforter and pillow before setting them on the couch.

Sally pauses near the mouth of the hallway, twisting slightly in her seat to make eye contact. “I’m not sure what time you want to get up in the morning, but I’m usually up by ten. I’ll try not to make too much noise if you’re still asleep. The bathroom is the first door on the left- feel free to take a shower if you’d like.”

It’s an offer that Theo has no intention of refusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My best friend is currently a host, has been on Button- coached for Brave New Voices, slammed at CUPSI, NPS, and Southern Fried. Which probably means I owe her an apology for this fic. 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle](writelikeitsgoingoutofstyle.tumblr.com). Feel free to drop me a line there, I absolutely adore feedback/chatting. 
> 
> uh... other realism notes- Marist is a real book store in NY- they do not, to my knowledge have an open mic. The Winsor School where I have Theo working is a real all girl's school in MA- I do not know much more about it other than that though. WOWPS really was in Boston this year during the weekend of March 12th. Blackberry is a magazine that does art/literature by Black women- though it is currently on hiatus. 
> 
> I don't know if Sally is ever going to actually say 'I have multiple sclerosis'. I did hours of research on MS- and a lot of things will be done... more like they were in this chapter rather than an info dump. Little details like the folding chairs (not so much because she doesn't need a chair- but because when she's using her wheelchair- it's better to have clear paths.). Whether or not you catch all of them isn't significant- though you are free to be like 'yo was this an accommodation factor/hint?' Disclaimer: I do not have MS and I do not use a wheelchair. I am however a part time cane user.


	2. a field of yellow flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very brief mention of a suicide attempt in this chapter. (Van Gogh's. Not any of the characters.)

Unfamiliar bathrooms have never been Theo’s friend. As much as she loves the feeling of hot water being naked in a stranger’s home is not a habit she picked up in her youth. Still, when her phone buzzes her awake at seven she makes a beeline for the bathroom.

The shower has a glass door and she sits her outfit for the day down on the counter before undressing. Takes in the hair care products and the little pots of makeup sitting next to the little vanity mirror, smiles slightly at the yellow butterfly painted on the bottom right corner.

Aaron really had spared no expense when it came to the details of the apartment. The fondness fades slightly as she remembers Sally’s comment about yellow not being her favorite color anymore. It’s entirely possible that Sally had chosen not to mention it- but the idea of Aaron going through all his effort without bothering to ask…

Theo doesn’t know how she feels about that. So she doesn’t think about it. Focuses instead on showering, infinitely grateful for her shaved head when she spies the cap hanging nearby. Like with most things in her life since the divorce, it’d been a decision about practicality.

That’s a better answer than spite. A better answer than the fact that she shaved her head the day Jacques walked out the door. It’s easier to assert that it’s a question of function-- after all, how much time has she saved by removing her hair from the equation? How much money has she saved shaving it herself?-- than deal with the implications of self-hatred over natural hair.

As Theo dries off with a borrowed towel she recenters her focus on the upcoming day. She’d left her laptop in the car last night without thinking about it, and she’ll need to go outside to fetch it. Maybe ask Sally if she knows somewhere nearby that Theo can print things. If not, Theo can send them to her phone and read from there.

A handful of years ago that thought would have disgusted her. Even though Theo has never slammed herself, she worked with enough competing poets to know the value of memorization. Of timing.

But one does what they can, and Theo is doing her best to treat this like something new again. It’s a tad bit strange considering herself fresh meat at her age, but it’s better than coming in dusty and pretending that she knows the rules.

Once she’s dressed and her teeth are brushed, Theo gathers her things and carries them back to the living room. Is surprised to see Sally is up, light blue sundress standing out against the backdrop of the folding chair that Theo had used last night.

She shouldn’t ask, but the words bubble out before she can help herself. “So the wheelchair isn’t an all the time thing?”

Sally considers the question with a spoonful of yogurt in her mouth and Theo is just about to apologize when the woman swallows. “Yesterday was a bit of a rough day. I prefer to use those when I can.”

With that, she references to a pair of previously unnoticed arm crutches leaning against the table. Theo nods and bends to tuck her things back into her suitcase. It gives herself time to collect herself, to make sure she doesn’t say anything else insensitive- like compare the arm crutches to that time in the fifth grade when she broke her ankle.

Theo’s never been a nervous talker before and she’s not sure why it’s decided to be a thing now. When she turns back around, Sally is all smiles, though. “Tomorrow’s grocery day so the fridge is a bit sparse- but there are eggs that can be cooked as well as some more yogurt.”

“That’s alright,” Theo says, not wanting to burden Sally’s already strained resources, “I think I saw a coffee shop on my way here. Would you like me to bring you anything back?”

“Actually,” Sally starts hesitantly, “Would you mind if I tag along?”

There're a million questions bubbling in Theo’s mind, but she the only one she asks is, “Do you have a car or would you like to take mine?”

It takes them almost thirty minutes to get to a place that they can leave, but by eight thirty they’re both comfortable in Theo’s car. When they arrive at the coffee shop, Theo parks as close to the front as she can. Lends her elbow to help Sally balance as she gets out of the car and her crutches in place.

All and all, it’s a lot less awkward than Theo expected when Sally first asked. It only takes a moment to speak to the cashier. Sally finds their table while Theo waits for their order to be ready.

The smile that Sally gives her when Theo hands her the coffee mug is radiant and Theo’s pretty sure she’s never done anything to deserve the sight. Never saved a kitten from a burning building or a child from a schoolyard bully.

Instead of saying such, she takes a bite of her muffin. A welcome distraction.

“So what time is the Open Mic you’re doing?” Sally asks, wiping her fingers free of crumbs.

Theo searches her memory. “Five, I think, but I’ll have to check my phone to be sure.”

Behind her a bell rings, the door opens and closes half a dozen times. The cashier calls out names, the clattering sounds of dishes. And Theo lets herself soak in it. How long has it been since she had something as simple as a coffee date? Drank tea somewhere other than her couch or the break room, trying to ignore her coworkers gossiping.

This isn’t a vacation but it might as well be. It’s closest she’s come to one in years.

“Five,” Sally echoes, just a few too many minutes from when Theo said it. “So we have time? Is there anything that you’d like to do?”

Time. What a funny concept. “I was actually hoping you might be able to suggest somewhere I can print out my work. It’s uh,” Theo stumbles, before shaking her head, refusing to be ashamed. “It’s been awhile since I’ve performed.”

“There’s a printer at my place, actually.” Sally takes a sip of her drink, grimacing when she comes upon the dredges. “Anything else?”

“I was thinking about running over my set out loud, but other than that, I’m open to suggestions.”

They decide to go back to the apartment. Better to go and ahead and get Theo’s things printed out before trying to figure out what to do with any free time they might have. Sally balls the end of her dress up in her fists as Theo helps swing her legs into the car for her and they’re on their way.  
Once they’re in Sally’s apartment, she directs Theo down the hallway and toward her bedroom. It’s not an overly large space, but what Theo likes the most is how lived in the space looks. Whereas the rest of the house might as well be a show space, Sally’s room is untouched by her brother’s voice.

Instead of that bright minimalism, a large cluttered desk took up a decent portion of the right side of the room. The wheelchair that Sally had been using yesterday is tucked beneath it and Theo can’t help but try and take in all the different things on its surface. Not only is the printer there, but scissors and markers. There’s a mason jar filled crayons with a lighter sitting next to it.

Sally sits down on her bed, leaving her crutches to lean against the bedside table that houses a small fridge. “So, you’ll need to use the cord to attach your laptop to the printer and then you’re good to go.”

It doesn’t take her long to get set up, and Theo kneels down next to the desk with her laptop on the knee as she searches for the documents she needs to print out. It’s strange scrolling past lesson plans to reopen ones that haven’t seen the light of day in weeks.

Once she has her queue set, she turns to look at Sally again. “So you’re an artist?”

It’s an easy question, but Sally tips her head to the side instead of answering immediately. “I guess that depends on how you define art.”

“That’s the kind of thing an artist would say.” Common too among some poets. There were those proud of their titles, but there were also those who always questioned the parameters of the form.

Sally shot her a smile before shrugging slightly. “Sometimes I make zines. When we were younger, I helped Aaron make one to ask a girl to prom.”

“Could I see your work?” While Theo is familiar with the general concept of zines, she’s never laid hands on one herself. Most of the artists she kept in touch with were either wordsmiths like Angelica or did digital art.

“Remember, I warned you. I’m not an artist,” Sally says leaning slightly so that she can point at a box under the desk. “You’ll have to move my wheelchair to get it out- but they should be in that thing.”

The familiar sound of printing serves as background music while Theo digs the box out. Sits down on the ground criss-cross applesauce as she pulls it contents out.

Van Gogh stares up at her from the cover of the first one. Colored construction paper showcases different pieces from his lifetime, an assortment of quotes on the backside of each page. Some of them Theo recognizes on sight- ‘Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose, but young men think it is, and we were young’ is part of a poem by Housman, ‘Being oppressed means the absence of choices.’ sounds like bell hooks.

“We went to an exhibit,” Sally says suddenly, and Theo looks up to prove she’s listening. “I hadn’t yet gotten the wheelchair, but I was using a traditional cane at the time. So it was probably three years ago? But Aaron decided we needed to go to the special exhibit at the art museum. Did you know that there’s a popular myth that Van Gogh drank yellow paint to try and cure his depression?”

Yes, once upon a time Theo had heard that story. But Sally shakes her head. “It’s not true. Not unless ‘trying to cure depression’ is a pretty euphemism for attempted suicide. That story really struck me. How we try to take reality and dress it up into something it’s not.”

The next zine that Theo pulls out of the box spouts the almost-familiar face of Aaron Burr. Whereas the first one had been done on cheap paper and tied together with yarn, a cardstock cover is hand stitched to hold to printed pages. Theo idly flips through the collection of his poetry, but ultimately puts it down.

“Aaron and I used to go to the park.”

Rubbings of leaves, pressed flowers, and even a small baggie of dirt accentuate that one. But there’s also a small booklet that is nothing but tickets. To movies, concerts and theme parks. A wax seal marks another one’s cover.

Occasionally Sally pipes in with a story. There’s a series of mini-zines, each made out of a single piece of paper, that seem to just be about Aaron’s adventures. Another small stack is filled with what looks like biographies on artists. Theo’s surprised to see Angelica there.

When she holds it up, Sally reaches out for it. “I’d almost forgotten about those. A year or so ago Angelica did a project about boosting diversified voices in the poetry community. The girls all came over and interviewed one another and there’s a little zine for each one.”

That sounds like Angelica. The final surprise comes when at the bottom of the stack is Sally’s. Theo thumbs the pages, lets the silence of the room settle around them.

 

In American Sign the word for the seventh day of the week,  
is two open hands, circling.  
They tell me this is because of Palm Sunday-  
but I can only think of the way your breasts looked that afternoon,  
church was the last thing on our minds.

Church is two sharp taps of a C on a fist-  
but chocolate is a slow circling.  
and honestly you can guess  
when I find more pleasant.

I was never one for sunrise services,  
but I'd love to watch the sunset with you.

 

A manicured nail strokes along the page as she reads the excerpts of poems tucked along the pages. Finally, she speaks up, “I didn’t know you wrote too.”

“Aaron followed in my footsteps.” It’s quiet. “And then he surpassed me. I’ve never been prouder.”

“Did you ever slam?” Theo asks curiously.

Regrets it a moment later when Sally references the wheelchair with a noise of disbelief. “I’m sure that would have gone over well. Besides, I’m too tired most of the time. Performing is a lot of energy.”

“If you really wanted to you would find the energy.” Apparently, she should get a shovel considering she’s determined to dig this hole for herself. “You’re a wonderful writer, and you have a beautiful speaking voice- I bet you would do phenomenally. Just look at Natalie Illum.”

The dirt is packing itself around her, and Sally rubs at her face. “It’s sweet of you to think so. And I’m happy for Natalie, but she’s not me. Not all people who use crutches are the same. I’m not making an excuse I am merely recognizing my limitations.”

It’s not what Theo had meant, but she recognizes the slip. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to say that it’s an excuse. I just never want to see someone give up on something they were meant to do because it’s hard.”

Sally gives another shrug, still looking less sure of herself and Theo pretends her chest doesn’t tug at that. At knowing that her attempt to say something inspirational instead fell into insult.

“In another life,” Sally says finally. “But in this one? I am doing what I can. I get to support Aaron and Angelica and any of the other poets who come knocking on my door. Now, didn’t you say that you wanted to practice some of your pieces? Why don’t we do that.”

Theo accepts the change in subject graciously, reaching up to grab her stack of printed work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> That poem? is mine. I didn't want to have anything done by Theo or Sally belong to someone else, nor am.... I feeling particularly motivated to write anything from their perspectives (poetry-wise.) so that is a piece I had published in a Queer Lit Rag back in 2012. 
> 
> Natalie E. Illum is a spoken word poet who uses arm crutches. Warning, a lot of her pieces deal with disability and/or abuse. They are heavier pieces.


End file.
